The Dance
by BlackRosePoetry
Summary: "They're pressed so close it's impossible to tell where he ends and she begins. Who would want to tell anyway?" Weird pairing. vampire!Howie/Mrs. Jeepers. Rated a solid M for graphic sexual descriptions and language. Literally smut with a bit of fluff thrown in to make me feel better about myself.
How they ended up here, Howie will never be able to tell anyone; he can barely remember himself. Something about boring school dances and lascivious principals and hunger, and cotton candy, maybe. All that's important in this moment is he's covered head to toe in blood mixed with spun sugar, chunks of his hair matted with varying amounts of sticky candy and visceral bodily fluid, red red red salty iron mixing into dessert.

And all that's _really_ important is the mewls and moans of the woman pinned to the kitchen counter as he laps up sticky liquid from a slender neck and he needs those sounds to keep going, to keep reverberating through his soul for the rest of eternity. So he unbuttons her blouse with his teeth, fangs just barely grazing lily-white skin as he licks and laves and sucks at tender flesh, hands wandering aimlessly over pronounced curves. He can feel goosebumps rise in their wake and he can't help the smirk that curls his lips at her reaction. And she's so hot he's pretty sure her body heat could bake a cake. Of course, he wasn't much better off.

"Howie," she breathes through moans, "we're in the middle of the kitchen. Someone could see."

The lilt of her voice is enough to make a growl rumbled in Howie's chest, feral and wanting, and so he kisses his way back up to the sensitive area behind her ear. He bites softly, reveling in her gasp. "Let them watch. No one's going to have you like I do, anyway, so they might as well enjoy the show."

He kisses her long and slow and deep, tasting everything that is so distinctly _Adri_ , and the taste makes him shudder. She snickers against his mouth, lips swollen and pliable and no longer covered with anything. Which isn't really a loss, in Howie's mind because she tastes _damn_ good. "The show?"

"It's a magnificent spectacle every time," he replies carelessly. "Every. Single. Time."

He punctuates those last three words with a kiss, each one more wanton and passionate than the last. Effortlessly, he lifts her onto the counter for easier access to her black lace bra and the treasures that lay beneath the offending piece of fabric. A purr vibrates in her chest as he licks at her collarbone, and long legs wrap around his legs. And a pair of bright verdant eyes glow up at him wickedly enough that the younger vampire feels his control start to slip.

"Mmm, I may have to agree with you on that, darling boy," she husks at him, a smug grin curling those pretty lips of hers.

Deft, moon-pale fingers begin unbuttoning his ruined dress shirt, and he has to concede that it is very unfair for her to be so exposed and him to be so covered in clothing. And Howie begins attacking that glorious chest of hers with renewed fervor as his shirt joins her blouse on the ancient hardwood, enthusiastically lapping up sweetened, dried blood as she moans and sighs into his hair. She's let his tie, though, a sloppy noose around his neck, something to help her control the situation.

But just as he's about to divest her of the annoying alluring bra, those delicate fingers rake harshly across his pectoral muscles. Hard enough to draw blood, red liquid dripping to the floor while she chuckles.

Howie snarls, pulls away from her. Dark blue eyes, glowing in the low light, linger just a tad too long on the deadly minx sucking his blood off her fingertips. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes." She grabs his tie with hands that could crush marble and pulls him into a deep, long kiss that makes Howie think he might spontaneously combust on the spot. "Very, _very_ necessary," Adri purrs.

She presses into him, hands wandering over his abs and down to his ass and Howie quietly thanks God for judo. Without which, there would've been no control whatsoever. Her teeth scrape across his chin as he pulls her almost painfully close.

"But I wanted to point out that no one knows about us," she says. Her voice is far too logical for Howie's liking – he'll have to fix that. "And I don't want any of your friends witnessing anything like. . . _that_. Or your father."

He's trying his best to listen, really he is, but her hands are pulling at his hair in just the right way and her legs are just so fantastic and he can't get enough of the way her breath hitches when he slides his hands from smooth calves to creamy thighs. So he does what any teenager in his situation would do. He grins wickedly, nipping at swollen lips while his fingers trace aimless patterns onto that silken skin warm against his own.

"Well maybe I don't care who sees." He notices a shudder run through her petite body and the grin widens. "Maybe I want everyone to know that I'm yours and you're mine."

He cuts off any protests she might have made with a near-brutal kiss, hands shoving her pencil skirt up so high it could barely qualify as a belt. Adrianna lets out a surprised yelp, followed immediately by a breathy whine that makes him snarl with want, and he can smell _everything_ in the air. His want. _Her_ want. Sweat. Blood. Spun sugar. Expensive champagne. Then she gets it in her head that she can just stroke a finger across his cock through the ever-constricting fabric of his pants while scraping her teeth across his jaw.

And that was _it_. It was over.

Or it was just beginning, depending on how one perceived the situation.

Howie growls savagely, shoving the petite woman flat against the island countertop as he licks, sucks and bites his way down her torso. Her panties, delicate and lacy and black to match the bra, meet a cruel fate via sharp eye-teeth and desperation. And the blonde _tries_ to hold off, really he does. He nibbles the inside of her thigh, close to the bend of her hip, in a place he knows is very very sensitive. But then she _squirms_ and the heat radiating from her core brushes his cheek and whatever form of self-control the young vampire once had completely shatters.

Within minutes, her hands are fisted tightly – almost painfully so – in his hair and he can feel the island protesting loudly to the beat of her rocking hips. And Howie has to physically pry her thighs apart because they keep closing in around his head like a steel vice, muscles of complete marble clenching to prevent any retreat. He might be a vampire now, but he still requires oxygen, and it seems she interprets his need for air as a permanent withdrawal. And he'll never quite know where the fucking _whipped cream_ came from, but seconds later her wet folds are coated with the thick, light substance and his mouth waters harder than it ever has before. And he doesn't even register the saliva dripping over fangs and down his chin before his tongue is back on her of its own volition.

She comes once, maybe twice. While her moans and growls and mewls are music to his ears, Adri isn't one to hold back during foreplay. So he can never really be sure what's release and what's just a really good stroke he should remember for future use. Honestly, he could probably be happy spending the rest of eternity right here, with long slender legs wrapped comfortably around his neck. School and blood and the world be damned. But then his ever-sensitive hearing picks up on familiar voices coming down the street. And he forgot to close the fucking blinds so it's highly unlikely they'll miss the writhing, moaning woman splayed across her kitchen table. Howie hisses in annoyance because, despite what he boasted earlier, he is _not_ about to share his precious queen with anyone.

And she comes again with the sound, forgetting about being quiet while her back arches almost painfully, so Howie departs from his paradise to silence her mouth with his own. It's not very effective, not with the erratic whimpers and gasps coming from those pliant red lips. But he doesn't mind, not really, and he lifts her from the counter without hesitation, darting to the darkened hallway before anyone can see their dance.

When the voices pass and her sounds have subsided, he rests his forehead against hers with a self-satisfied smile. "Hello there, beautiful."

Adri laughs breathlessly. "Hello there, yourself." She kisses him with less of a raging inferno and more of a slow char. "It appears I was right. Why don't we finish this somewhere else?"

A positively _wicked_ grin curls Howie's lips, and the petite red-head shudders between his body and the wall, eyes so dilated he can barely tell they're green anymore. He's still so hard he could beg. But looking at her, flushed and heaving and covered in sticky candy mixed with saliva, gives him an idea. A fun idea, if he had to say so.

He nips at her lips and whispers, "I know the perfect place if you can hold off for about two minutes."

She just quirks a challenging eyebrow at him.

Less than two minutes later they're upstairs with her pressed to the subway tile wall in her bathroom, half clothed and sweaty and messy. And Howie can't quite tell in the tangle of limbs where she ends and he begins, but that doesn't really matter anyway. Because she feels absolutely fucking _amazing_ with wilken skin covering steel-coil muscles that could snap him in two should she feel the urge. And the danger in that is something that should deter him, really, among about thirty dozen other reasons why their relationship isn't quite right. But in actuality the thought of her digging those perfect nails into him until bones snap and flesh tears is enough to make him moan helplessly. And they've been removing (more like shredding) clothing like eager teenagers after an eight month dry spell. Those long nails of hers rake along his back and provoke another powerful growl from him, which cuts off abruptly when she takes his shaft in her hands.

How in the fucking hell had he not realized his pants were undone?

They end up _naked_ , sweaty, and messy against the cold tile wall, and a long while passes with the groping and the squeezing and the kisses that are more like bites before they finally manage to stumble into the shower. And then it's all shiny, slippery bodies and hot water tingling in all the proper ways, grinding against each other for relief while their mouths seem impossible to separate. His fingers are in her long soaked hair, knotted in silk, and her hands are grabbing onto his ass for dear life. And there's so little space between them that even the water barely manages to get through. But then she pulls back, panting, and her eyes are glowing with the same primal light as a predator surveying its prey. And before he knows it she's on her knees, kissing his cock with the same delicious fervor she was just giving his mouth.

There's tongue and heavenly lips molding to his shape, a bit of teeth the way he likes it, and all Howie can think of is _when did she learn how to do this?_ Because Adrianna is a princess, a precious gemstone that needed to be cherished, but here she was on her knees for _him_ of all people. But by the time she squeezes his butt tight and fucks him into her throat, the taut muscles of his abdomen twitch as though nerves had been crossed wrong. And all he can do is groan a long, low "Fuck!" as the water crashes hot and heavy around them.

He can literally feel her smile now, smug against his flesh, and whoever taught her how to do this had to have been a fucking god, because he thinks his nerve endings might be shot from all the sensation. She's pretty amazing, more than pretty amazing, and his knees are wobbling with tremors rocking his hips ever _so_ slightly and, **fuck** , this feels SO good. And he doesn't think he can last much longer with the fire that's building up inside his core, twisting his muscles, and he twists his fingers in thick red hair to warn her as much.

But, dear Christ, isn't there some sort of fire in her too?

Apparently, there's some desperation building for his perfect queen, and ever the competitive one, she's not about to let him lose control without losing some of hers too. So with one last lick, one last drag of her lower lip across the underside of his dick, she sloppily kisses her way over his abdomen. And her teeth, pearly white and sharp, scrape over his ribs dangerously with not quite enough force to break the skin before coming up to bite down sharply on his shoulder. Blood explodes from the wound, coats her lips and her teeth, and the gesture provokes the first sound he's made since she started sucking him. He yelps, eyes wide as he looks at her, and she's got a challenging smile directed at him, pretty red lips and chin coated with his blood.

Holy. Mother. Of God.

Howie smashes his lips on hers, tastes the now-distinctly iron flavor of her mouth before he regains enough mental capacity to realize that shoving his hand between her legs is the best thing to do in this situation. When she gives a pleased groan, he can't help but feel a bit of pride.

Water rains over their backs and envelops them in a thick, hot mist and – once again – Howie can no longer tell where his body ends and hers begins. He's not particularly trying at this point. And his movements have got to be sporadic and jerky at best against her, frantic, whatever methodical precision he once held now long gone; there's a tiny part of him that's terrified the world will explode into flames if he slips fingers in. It already feels like the insane heat could swallow him whole at any given moment.

His fears are alleviated when Adri _climbs up the fucking wall_ and settles herself down onto him, legs wrapped tightly around his waist while he presses her back against the shower wall. Her head lolls back, giving him access to her collarbone and that lovely neck, and suddenly he's driving into her.

It starts out slow and careful, testing the to see what feels right, much like their relationship. But then a particularly poignant roll of his hips sends sparks flying behind his eyes and she's swearing very loudly in Romanian, back arching against the tile as a moan flies from those addictive lips. All caution flies out the fucking window at that point. And Howie has always been a very good student, one who needed a singular example only before having a concept grasped firmly.

He slams his hips forward once again, hits the same spot with a precision that almost startles him, and Adrianna clutches at him desperately as a surprised yelp escapes her lips. But her strength is unparalleled and she holds steady against the walls of her shower while he pounds into her. And Howie fucking _loves_ having vampiric strength because he can hold her weight with one arm effortlessly while one hand works her bead diligently, frantically as his hips move. His hair is plastered to his head, and hers is falling over her face, and when she leans in to kiss him he's pretty sure he inhales some of it. But the only thing he can think is _God, why haven't they done this before_?

Her movements match his and the shower head pounds into his lower back, right over where the pressure is building, stretching, brightening and shooting through every nerve in his body. And she's moaning and groaning at such a volume that Howie's pretty sure they'll be able to hear this in the next county. But it's not like anyone can see into the upstairs bathroom, and he's absolutely certain she's close because of the way she's clenching around him, the way her fingers bury deep into his shoulders and her brow furrows desperately.

Feeling her start to unravel around him – the most glorious sensation in the world, Howie thinks – he pulls out and shoves her up until her legs rest over his shoulders, mouth returning to lick her flushed core in long, thick strokes while his fingers replace his cock. His tongue is relentless, gliding over and into her with no visible effort and she tastes fucking _amazing_ , and then she rocks her hips into his face. And he's so close, so close, so close. And she's so close, so close, _so close_. God, his dick feels like it's going to fucking explode right there, every single nerve on fire. And then he sucks on her clit, long and hard and unrelenting as she keens loudly in a voice that is distinctly not human.

His world explodes into a golden halo of perfect calm around the same time hers does, spreading from fingers to toes to the tips of his hair – which she still has a death-grip on. It stays that way for an utterly perfect ten seconds, where the world dissolves away into tiny, insignificant nothingness, where there is only his princess and the pouring of hot water across over-sensitive skin. But then everything zooms sharply back into focus, from the bright red of her hair to the fading light outside the tiny, cracked window above the toilet to the way his blood crashes frantically through his veins like death itself were chasing it. Which is stupid, because he's immortal now, and he's not dying unless someone kills him.

By the time the aftershocks fade, he's loose-boned and well-sated. He gently lowers Adri back down to her feet, smiling through moisture that collects on his lashes at her expression. She's mustered possibly the laziest smirk he's ever seen, and he can see the exhaustion pooling in those bright emerald eyes he loves so very much. He can feel it too; she's refusing to stand on her own, propped against him with a pointed chin rested firmly on his breastbone as they look at each other.

She's gorgeous, beautiful and perfect even while they're sticky, sweaty, and exhausted. And, Jesus, how did he end up like this? With a tiny, shattered queen that meant more to him than anyone ever had before? Howie wasn't exactly sure when it happened, but he wouldn't change a thing if he could.

Adrianna's ready to fall asleep on her feet; however, it's pretty hard to ignore the memories of what they've been doing. Especially when they have to run hands all over each other to remove cotton candy and saliva and sweat with smooth soap that smells like mint leaves. But Howie doesn't act on the impulses and neither does she. Instead, he takes his time to pamper her once she's done washing his back. He washes her hair with all the care he can muster, rubbing shampoo into the delicate skin of her scalp as she purrs beneath his ministrations. And once that's done he lathers conditioner into her shiny curls, mid-shaft to tip as she taught him some time ago. While he waits for the product to work its magic, he kisses her senseless, thorough against pliable pink lips. He peppers them across high cheekbones and down a delicate jawline and over her smooth forehead, presses feather-light pecks over her eyelids.

They rinse under water that's rapidly becoming lukewarm, stepping out into the steam-filled room with a palpable air of exhaustion. Howie dries her with a large fluffy towel from the linen cabinet, grinning as she cuddles into him like an affectionate kitten. There are no illusions that Adrianna is going anywhere but bed, and she's stumbling like a drunk person by the time she hits the lush king-sized bed. The blonde vampire can't help but feel a swell of deep affection for his queen, and it makes his heart hurt that he has to go back to his father's empty house full of echoes and memories and _not her_.

Once she's settled under her covers, Howie leans forward and presses one last lazy kiss to her forehead before turning to go collect his pants from the bathroom floor. But a delicate hand wrapped around his wrist stops him cold. He turns, surprised, and looks into a pair of exhausted verdant eyes that regard him with a mixture of confusion and betrayal.

"Where are you going?" she whispers.

"I have to go home," he replies sadly. "My Dad will get suspicious if I don't come home."

Her grip on his wrist tightens fractionally, and those sad sad eyes look at him with enough emotion to make him hurt. "Don't go, not tonight."

He's torn. On one hand, he's got a queen begging him to join her in bed. On the other, he's bound to run into a suspicious parental unit if he doesn't return home. What to do? If his dad found out, everything would come crumbling down around his ears. And he could _lose_ her. But he can't function with those eyes staring at him.

Then Howie has an epiphany. He grins, leans in and presses a kiss to her lips – which are most likely bruised at this point - once more before murmuring, "Let me make a phone call, beautiful. I'll be right back."

He rushes to the bathroom and finds his cell-phone nestled safely in the pocket of his crumpled trousers. The first phone call is to Eddie, a request to lie should his father call and say that Howie was staying with him. His red-headed friend agrees on the grounds that he should do the same if Grandma Matthews calls. The next call is to his father, explaining that he and Eddie were going to spend the night together and play video games, that he'd be home in the morning. His father doesn't question it, and the reality of that makes him feel a little guilty for lying. But the lies are worth it, he reasons, because they're what protects Adrianna from those that would hurt her.

He slips into the bed behind her a few minutes later, and Howie allows the bone-deep exhaustion to take over him. Adrianna rolls over and nuzzles into his chest, head resting comfortably under his chin. She smells like mint and rosemary and it makes him feel warm throughout his entire being as her body molds to his. They're like puzzle pieces: the weird curvy edges come together to make a complete picture.

Howie buries his nose in her still-damp hair. And as he drifts off to sleep, he whispers, "I love you, beautiful" onto the still air.

Adrianna sighs happily, pretty much asleep herself, and she squeezes him tighter. "I love you, too, silly boy."

They both fall asleep with dopey grins on their faces, limbs so entangled it was impossible to distinguish where he ended and she began.

Who would want to tell anyway?


End file.
